Chasing Pavements
by Spicy-obsession
Summary: A study of Draco’s and Pansy’s relationship done in vignettes, starting from childhood. Book Canon-compatible for the most part with some speculation, 3rd Person POV, present tense. Rating susceptible to change.
1. birthday party, age 6

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

A/N: I haven't posted anything here in three years, and this is what I come up with when I return. Well, read and review anyway, please.

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(**childhood**)

The first time Pansy sees him is at her sixth birthday party, and her normally severe mum who is now strangely overexcited introduces a particularly blond family to her.

"Pansy darling," she croons, "these are the Malfoys, and their son, Draco."

Too young to catch her mother's slight emphasis on the word _son_,Pansy sweeps her dress back in the curtsy her mother had been drilling into her head all week. "Pleased to meet you," she says, proud that her voice is not squeaky.

"Pleasure," Draco returns imperiously (or as imperiously a seven-year-old boy can be).

Tittering at the children, Mrs. Parkinson turns away and Pansy already tunes her out while in search of hidden gift behind the backs of the Malfoys. When her efforts turn up fruitless, Pansy is unable to conceal her pout, and Mum notices, quickly masking the look of alarm on her face.

"My sweet, why don't you entertain young Malfoy while I have a small chat with his parents? You can show him all the gifts you've received so far." At that, she nudges Pansy and Draco off to the side and turns back to his well-to-do parents, who have perfect postures and perfect hair.

She shrugs and fixes her attention on _young Malfoy_, who looks positively bored. He raises his hand to tug at the stiff collar constricting his neck, but stops, thinking better of it than to dirty his dress robe and face mother. "Do you want to see my presents?" Pansy offers.

He wrinkles his nose snobbishly, a habit he has only just picked up. "All right."

She leads him through a crowd of champagne glasses, mingling accents, and stinging perfume to a long table, upon which a good number of gifts have been placed and are still growing. Even the table is dressed in sumptuous fabrics, and the presents look twice as luxurious. Pansy had already opened a few boxes, expressing delight when uncovering dolls and scowling when unwrapping frilly, cuffed robes from their immaculate packaging.

"Do you want to help me open some?" she asks.

He pauses from picking at his fingers to look up, takes in the small hill, and sniffs. "I've gotten more than this."

Pansy frowns, her own nose wrinkling. "Well, my parents are richer than yours."

He looks at her, then briefly glances over at a house elf pouring his parents glasses of champagne while Mrs. Parkinson smiles and chatters all the while. Draco looks back at Pansy and smirks. "No they're not."


	2. tea party, age 9

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews so far, glad to know I haven't quite yet lost my touch at this. Now on with the series.  


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Mrs. Parkinson is pouring herself a cup of tea when her dark-haired child—she notes with disapproval—runs into the parlor in a huff, the hem of her dress slightly worn. She says nothing until Pansy comes round to the table and plops herself down. "You ran in here and soiled your dress, again. What have I told you about that?"

"Sorry," Pansy says quickly. "History with Professor Jenkins took forever, and then one of the elves mentioned you're having raspberry scones today for tea."

"And would you have visited me anyway if there were not any raspberry scones?" her mother asks pointedly.

"Yes," she replies smoothly.

"Good answer."

"I know," Pansy says, giggling.

The corners of her mother's mouth tighten. "Don't be impertinent."

"I wasn't."

"Pansy."

The single word effectively silences any response the daughter could have made, and she nods slowly, the smirk on her face now replaced by a carefully blank expression. Mrs. Parkinson also nods and adjusts the cloth napkin on her lap. The two are seated at the table like this for several minutes before Pansy begins fidgeting in her chair. Her mother frowns.

"Dear, do sit up straight. I won't have you slumped over the table like that."

Scowling, Pansy sits up. Her mother then adds, "Stop scowling, it's very unbecoming."

"And what if I want to be unbecoming?" she retorts. Having a mother can be so very troublesome.

Her mother sighs delicately and waves over one of the elves. "Don't be silly, dear, of course you don't want to." The elf sets a small plate of scones on the table, and Pansy immediately begins to lean over when her mother freezes her with a glare.

"Really now, how many times have I told you? You do not take one unless offered. And even then, always—_politely_—refuse the first two offers."

"But I'm at home right now," Pansy whines, "and I'm tired of lessons."

Mrs. Parkinson makes an exasperated noise. "Go on then, eat away. Let your manners degenerate into some sort of wild animal—I'm sure young Malfoy will adore such a wife."

Pansy pauses at "Malfoy" and is quiet for a moment. After giving the matter considerable thought, she reluctantly sets her (uneaten) scone on her plate and takes a sip of tea instead. Her mother nods. "Good girl."

Pansy scowls again. "Then I don't want to marry him if I can't eat what I want."

"My, how very fickle you are! And here you were not several days ago telling me how excited you were when you learned of the engagement—which, I must remind you, was not meant to be revealed until you were older."

"Draco told me, I didn't go snooping about for it," she insists, "And my husband _should _let me eat whatever I want, whenever I want."

Teacup at her lips, Mrs. Parkinson merely raises a well-plucked eyebrow. "Mm-hmm."

"You don't believe me, do you? Well, it doesn't matter. I'm going to do whatever I want, and he won't stop me."

Her mother sets the cup down, dabs at her mouth with the napkin, and looks at Pansy. "Of course."


	3. new school jitters, age 11

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

A/N: Let's see if I can't do weekly installments for this series. It'll be the first time I've faithfully stuck to an updating schedule if I succeed XD

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"I can't believe we're going to Hogwarts in September."

Pansy paces the room, agitated, and whirls on Draco, who is languorously seated in an armchair. "I just can't."

"Well, I can't either," he mutters, grimacing. "Father said I would always go to Durmstrang."

As if ignoring him (not that she really _would_), she continues her rant. "I mean I'm going to stay there for _seven_ years. Seven years is a long time for an engagement, and I don't want to spend it someplace as _shabby_ and _dirty_ as Hogwarts."

Draco grunts in response. "It's not as if we'll be acting like each other's betrothed over there. Father said that we are not to draw attention to the arrangement between our families."

Pansy smirks at the word "arrangement" and silently relishes the feel of the word in her mouth before going on. "But it's _our _engagement, Draco. I want to spend it in a proper, respectable school. None of my friends will take me seriously once they find out where I'm going."

He turns around in his chair to look at her, frowning. "Aren't you the least bit worried about what we'll be learning over there? Albus Dumbledore is the Headmaster, and Father says he's a good-for-nothing _Muggle Lover_."

She stops pacing at the last two words and makes a face. "Disgusting. I didn't know that."

"Maybe if you didn't obsess about the engagement so often and started listening in on your parents' parlor conversations you would pick up something."

"I only have to go to school until I'm seventeen. Marriage, that's for _life._ I'm not going to have my engagement become teatime gossip and be talked about everywhere I go."

Sighing, Draco says, "It won't matter anyway because after Hogwarts we'll be married, and no one can do anything to change that so they can get over themselves."

"You're right," Pansy replies, her sour mood disappearing. "And then I'll live in a grand old mansion with a hundred servants to do anything I want."

"Whatever," he mumbles and turns back around.

She stares at the back of his blonde head, willing him to look at her again. "What do you think it will be like—being married that is?"

"How am I supposed to know?" he says, "The wedding is forever away."

Her grasp on his attention now gone, Pansy sighs loudly before a dreamy look takes over her face. "I wish we could get married right now."


	4. first year, making friends, age 11

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

A/N: Shortest one to date, but I was in a rush, and I really want to (sorta) stick to the update schedule. Eheh, next one will be longer, I promise.  
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"What a prat he was," Draco fumes.

"The worst."

"Didn't even know who I was."

"Has he been living in a hole all his life?"

"Wouldn't surprise me, with the rags he had on."

"A right peasant," Pansy adds with a shake of her head.

"How dare he say '_no_' to me?" he bursts out. "No one says 'no' to a Malfoy."

She twirls a lock of hair around her finger, smirking. "We'll show him once we see him in class. You're not to be messed with."

"Exactly," he agrees, "He'll be sorry."

Pansy reaches out and tugs at his sleeve. "Stop pacing and sit with me."

Draco obliges, still stinging from his rejection. "I saw him at the Gryffindor table with Weasley at dinner. He chose a dirt-poor, muggle-loving Weasley over _me_."

Pansy sighs and shakes her head. "He's made his choice, nothing more we can do." She smiles. "Let's talk about something else."

"Whatever."


	5. first year, quidditch match, age 11

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

A/N: Alright, this one is indeed a tad longer than the last update, but not by much -_-' Also, this vignette is pretty far ahead in their first year. I'll most likely write some chronologically earlier pieces and re-update this thing. Hope you like this one!

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"Honestly, did you see the way his broom was bucking him? I don't know what they were thinking when they let Potter join the team."

Pansy giggles as the two of them round a corner. "Too bad he didn't fall. Slytherin would've won the match."

"We should have won," Draco insists indignantly, "but Dumbledore had to go buy Potter a bloody Nimbus 2000. And people say _we _cheat."

"Pathetic, he needed the broom just to even the odds," she replies viciously, and Draco laughs, a sound uncommon enough that makes Pansy flush.

Eventually, they reach the bottom of the stairs where a solid wall abruptly meets them. She says the password, and the stones groan and shift and slide into unknown space, a low-ceiling passageway revealed in its wake. Draco and Pansy look behind them before continuing.

"By the way, did you see the commotion at the professors' stall?" she asks.

"No, why?"

"Apparently, Snape's robes suddenly caught on fire."

"What? How?"

Pansy shrugs. "Dunno." Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "But I saw Weasley and his Muggle girlfriend sneak off from the Gryffindor benches right before the fire."

Draco snorts. "Are you telling me that those two twits managed to set our Head of House's robes on fire?"

"I know it sounds mad, but everyone knows that Potter and his sidekicks loathe Professor Snape. And I hate to admit it, but Granger knows her spells," she adds grudgingly.

"What? That buck-toothed Muggle?" He laughs harshly. "You give her too much credit."

"It's true though," Pansy mutters, "she's been getting high marks all year; even Professor Snape can't find much wrong with her work during Potions. She's making us look bad—"

Draco stops walking and slowly turns to Pansy. "The former is true, but the latter…" He takes a breath. "Granger is nothing but a stupid _Mudblood_ who hasn't learned her place yet."

Pansy is momentarily stunned by the look on his face. "O-of course," she replies at last. "So she couldn't have done it."

"Exactly," he says curtly and abruptly resumes walking, picking up a new brisk pace that Pansy almost struggles to match.


End file.
